


Forfeited Grace

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e14 The Yukon Affair, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 09:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Missing scene toThe Yukon Affair,takes place after the explosion at the end of the episode. Illya wakes in the hospital distressed and Napoleon tries to understand why.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Comments: 31
Kudos: 61





	Forfeited Grace

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship and similarities between Illya and Murphy intrigued me; Murphy is from an indigenous tribe in the Yukon, and is also a graduate of McGill university in Montreal. She tells Illya she has returned home to help raise her village out of poverty so they can all “live happily ever after.”
> 
> Tellingly, Illya asks: “And could you?” 
> 
> Murphy: “I don’t know. It’s not easy to be part one thing and part another. No one treats you as if you’re... real. I don’t know why I’m telling _you_ all this.”
> 
> The look on Illya’s face, a sort of flash of recognition and understanding, inspired me to write this story. 
> 
> Note: the title is taken from the last lines of the poem by the Russian poet Anna Akhmatova which begins, ‘You are an apostate: for a green island / You betrayed, betrayed your native land’ and ends, ‘Yes, neither battles nor the sea terrify / One who has forfeited grace.’
> 
> Your thoughts are always welcome! Thanks for reading.

When Illya comes round from the anaesthetic he is disorientated and intent on fighting his way off the hospital bed. 

“Illya,” Napoleon shouts over from his own bed but his voice is lost in the scrum of medical staff who are trying to hold Illya down. He hears someone call for restraints and with that he pushes himself out of bed, pausing for a moment to steady himself against the dizziness. His arm throbs in its cast as the blood rushes down to his fingers and he raises it against his chest. 

“Let me talk to him,” he says, and he doesn’t wait to hear their reply as he muscles through. His partner is trying to kick his leg free of the elevating frame, twisting desperately against the grasps of the nurses and making a strange keening sound that Napoleon has never heard before. “Illya, stop this. You’re in a hospital - “

Illya responds to his voice but not in the way he’d hoped. There is an outpouring of Russian, and Napoleon catches the word for  _explosion_ and  _submarine_ and there is a sudden chill as he realises that Illya is talking about a different explosion and a different submarine. And something about a white sea, _b__éloye móre_, over and over. 

He keeps talking, hoping to ground Illya in the present, and gradually Illya settles, allowing the nurses to touch him, to readjust dressings and bandages.

One of the nurses guides him back to his own bed and he sinks into the covers gratefully; he’s still feeling the after-effects of surgery himself.

He allows himself to doze, though he is instantly alert when Illya says his name.

“Napoleon?”

He smiles. “Welcome back.”

“Did I go somewhere?” 

“You tell me. You were a little out of it for a while.”

He can’t see Illya’s expression, can’t tell what he is thinking because of the bandages covering Illya’s eye, and he finds it infuriating. He shifts further up the pillow to try and get a better look at his partner but they are interrupted by doctors. 

Questions, explanations, instructions, and then it is Napoleon’s turn to be checked over and by the time they have the room to themselves the evening has turned to night and Illya is asleep.

* * *

It is still dark when Napoleon wakes, alerted subconsciously by some subtle change in the room. He looks over at Illya. Illya is lying still, illuminated by moonlight and even though Napoleon can’t see his face he’s fairly certain his partner is awake.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Can’t you?” Illya counters.

He knows there is something wrong, but when Illya is like this he goes inward, dark and brooding, and so Napoleon takes a punt on the cause of his partner’s mood and says,

“What’s the white sea?”

Illya stiffens. “ Excuse me?” 

“You kept saying it when you were coming round from the anaesthetic.  _Béloye móre, béloye móre_.” To his ear the words sound beautiful, but when Illya had spoken them they were full of horror and pain. 

Illya doesn’t say anything and Napoleon has a sinking feeling that he has overstepped the mark, that even after all this time he has taken a liberty and in doing so has embarrassed his partner, who is usually so careful with what he chooses to share of his life before UNCLE.

And then, unexpectedly, Illya answers him after all. “It is a naval base in Russia where I did my submarine training. I suppose being in the Yukon reminded me of it.” 

Perhaps it is because it is dark, and because their faces are hidden from each other, but whatever the reason for it, Napoleon cannot let this moment of intimacy pass. 

“Was that what was keeping you up?”

The sheets rustle as Illya shifts. “No. I was thinking about something Murphy said.”

“Oh?” He is surprised. The girl was nice, if a little young, but it seems unlikely she could say anything of worth.

“She told me it wasn’t easy being part one thing and part another. That no one treats you as if you’re real.”

He blinks. The significance of the words for his partner does not escape him, but he doesn’t know how far Illya wants him to acknowledge this. 

Fortunately he is spared from having to answer because Illya asks,

“What do you think will happen to her?” 

He shrugs. “I doubt she’ll return to her tribe.”

“She can’t.”

“No.” He thinks of her father. “No, I guess not. Unless her father is implicated with Partridge; then it might be safe for her to -“

Illya is shaking his head. “It is more than that. She doesn’t belong there anymore.”

“Because she got herself an education?”

“Because she left. They no longer trust her.” Illya states this in a way that is emotionless and matter-of-fact and certain, and it pains Napoleon to hear it. He longs to offer words of comfort to his partner but there are none. He more than anyone else knows what Illya has gained in joining UNCLE, but he will never know what Illya has lost.

Then quieter, softer, Illya says, “it is a great pity, is it not, when one can’t go home again.”

He hears Illya saying _béloye__ móre, béloye móre, _and now in hindsight he thinks that maybe Illya was calling for it. Suddenly there is an ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his injuries. 

“Illya- “ 

“Forgive me Napoleon,” Illya says, interrupting him, “the drugs are making me maudlin. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he answers, reflexively. 

But he does not sleep. In the silence and the closeness of this room he can hear every sound his partner makes and yet he has never felt further from him.

_Finis_


End file.
